cheek on cheek
by birdyful
Summary: And she deluded herself, thinking: "This should be forever." [8695 drabble fic, requests open. Do not repost w/o permission.]
1. maybe

**1: maybe**

* * *

She didn't know when it began.

Maybe it was when she felt the urge to poke the puffed up cheeks when Haru was pouting about one thing or another. Brown eyes wide and full of emotion. It was in the purse of her lips, the crinkle in the corner of her eye. The indignant tone and clench in her fist as she passionately ranted about yet another stupidity of the boys.

Maybe it was when they first met, and both discovered a mutual love for pastry and they just clicked. Sunlight streamed through the windows, she smiled with a spoon still in her mouth, and snorted at her joke.

Maybe it was in the future in the hot tub, where she saw Haru and thought: "Who wouldn't marry her?" She could cook, clean, and smile worries away. Even when the silence ambushed them and pure, cold fear- She smiled. It was absolutely ugly, desperate, wobbly. They clung to each other, fellow hapless victims in useless resentment and anxiousness, and Kyoko focused on her warmth and fabric of her shirt.

Or maybe, it was during one of the missions. Maybe it was when she demanded being trained. Maybe it was when they together stared down Tsuna-kun so that he realized they can't be ignorant forever. Maybe it was when she held her when it all became too much, and they went through five boxes of tissues in that evening.

But at the very latest, because there were as many, many opportunities to fall for Haru, it was when she came back, dead tired from negotiations, hair undone from ties, pins, and sprays, and collapsed onto the bed. Kyoko wasn't in better shape, only managing to take of both of their shoes and socks before flopping down next to her, thankful she kept it in a bob.

Haru turned, facing her with those brown eyes, and groaned: "They're so fucking _moronic_. Stupidity doesn't cut it."

She laughed breathlessly in response, wondering when Haru adopted those words from Hana, and watched as these words faded from her lips and awareness from her eyes. Her breathing evened out. As Kyoko followed suit into sleep, both of their hair entangled in each other, cheek on cheek, she was...Happy. Content.

And she deluded herself, thinking: "This should be forever."


	2. definitely

**02: definitely**

* * *

Haru was sure of many things. Currently, she counted five, but still! The things were a many, believe her. Please, and thank you.

 _One: The sun is less bright today._

There weren't any clouds in the sky. The weather forecaster said that it will be just another sunny summer day in Namimori. Same centigrade, same humidity, same wind strength. Same town, same weather, same Haru.

But a different Kyoko. She was lost in thought, trying to pay attention to her babbling, but failing.

 _Two: Creampuffs are expensive._

To be fair, the café was generally an expensive place, but they can be excused for the delicious, delicious products they make. Even if she had to clean the clay shards from her carpet, erasing the evidence of a piggy bank ever having existed every month.

She should just stop buying piggy banks. A bowl to put her quickly vanishing allowance in would work just fine.

 _Three: Kyoko loves creampuffs._

So why wasn't she touching any of them? Haru ordered twenty. Kyoko managed to finish fifteen last time, but that was when she was worried about her brother fighting in the ring again. Twenty should be more than enough. But her gaze was set outside the window, the passerbyes reflected in her irises.

Haru was in serious risk of repeating herself, but...Hear her out. Twenty creampuffs are expensive. She could have had two months of allowance spent on other things than twenty creampuffs.

 _Four: Kyoko's hands are really smooth._

Her skin was pale, but not unhealthily so. Unlike her sibling, she stayed away from strenuous physical activities and the outdoors. These hands were cared for. They have exchanged many beauty tips, so Haru knew without sniffing like a creep (yes, believe her) that they will smell of milk and honey.

Haru also knew that Kyoko has cold hands, but that might just be an effect of having the warmer palms covering the generally colder back.

This made Kyoko look up and smile sheepishly. She apologized and returned to that distracted expression where it seems like the entire world was within her eyes, but this time, there was a soft smile and her eyes were crinkled.

 _Five: Haru's cheeks and ears will catch fire if embarrassed._

She saw herself in those eyes, and didn't dare remove her hands from Kyoko's.

Because although it felt like her heart will burst out of her chest and sing a song of sayonara, she had found another thing she was sure of.

 _Plus One: This is definitely the correct way to go. Consider the twenty creampuffs a farewell gift._

* * *

 **AN: I saw the guest review and was happy. Thank you! But more importantly...If it's that rare for a Haru and Kyoko pairing to appear, why didn't you follow the story? *sulks w/o shame***

 **I accept requests for these drabbles on Tumblr! I plan to only do 25 drabbles in total, so requests are limited.**


	3. soft

**03: soft**

 **Part one of a Pokéverse AU. All will be written from Kyoko's POV.**

* * *

The world isn't kind.

Kyoko woke up to an emptier home once. Ryohei was out battling in the neighborhood and a five-year old her groggily received the pidgey post, telling that their dad perished, fighting against amateur poachers who got a lucky shot in. The poachers and the milotic dad tried to save died as well, leaving her egg behind.

She stared at the muddy brown egg with mold-blue spots. A feebas will hatch from it. There are as many feebas as there are magikarp in the sea. The recorded number of milotic are under a hundred. Evolved from feebas under a trainer? Less than thirty. In all of verified recorded history.

A feebas will hatch from the egg. Each under-ten, non-trainer citizen can only have one Pokémon. At fourteen you can have two. At sixteen three. Under special circumstances can you get a pokémon earlier, but not more. You have until twenty-one to prove that you have affinity with being a trainer by gaining three badges, and according to your Pokémon and badge, your trainer rank will be different.

A feebas will hatch from the egg. The first three pokémon will be partially cared for by the League. One can apply for coupons and free basic online courses. If one is careful, the starter pack can last for months. If you decide to raise your starter from an egg, the league will see that as a pretense for a more successful bond and therefore be more invested in your career. They will cover the majority of the costs to raise an egg to hatching to baby pokémon care and sign you up to free online courses. Following pokémon raised from eggs will still give you benefits, but the provision will not be nearly as extensive. She was planning to get her starter from Nana, Namimori's breeder.

A feebas will hatch from the egg. Her dad died protecting a milotic protecting her eggs from _moronic_ poachers. The starter slot is carefully chosen. The starter is sacred. Nana already promised to have a good egg ready for her when she turns ten, and until then she can help out and learn the ropes. The post came with egg adoption forms. Once she scans them in the League will recognize a feebas as her starter.

A feebas will hatch from the egg.

Ryohei half-heartedly offered to take the egg, and she could see how he was already making training plans in his head and dreading a water pokémon in his planned fire-based team. But he was willing, for her. For her starter slot.

A feebas will hatch from the egg.

It will be ugly, tattered fins and dim, mold-blue highlights. Comically ugly lips and large eyes lined with uneven black. They once went to an aquarium where the whole class giggled at a feebas' ugliness and moved on to look at the adorable spheals. If someone is unpopular, they will be called a feebas and can only watch as others run away mock-shrieking.

A feebas.

Kyoko looked at the letters and blanks she had to fill, boxes she had to tick. And slowly, very slowly, she laid it onto the dinner table instead of the tempting garbage bin. Opening the door, she went to the next district of the town.

She told Ryohei her answer. She tells her ranger dad through this her grief. She will tell Nana her resolve.

At a tender age of five, she marched out of the door to Nana's house, leaving behind the egg adoption forms. And under Egg Holder, it spelled in ****soft**** , wobbly letters and ink:

 _Kyoko Sasagawa_

("Kyoko! You EXTREMELY forgot to lock the door!")

* * *

 **AN: Thank you guest and ekourege for reviewing and follow/favoriting respectively! :D**


	4. thump'

**04: 'thump'**

* * *

She woke up to the smell of sunlight and coffee, the warm impression of another's physical body on the bed, and the familiar something vaguely resembling numbness towards her life choices. Oh, that meant she fucked up again, somehow. She just can't realize what now in this peaceful, sleep-filled instance. Let's list some examples.

Deciding to escape into the wonderful world of costume making after the death of her mom? Excused and encouraged. This one doesn't count. What about that time where she accidentally spilled an entire bucket of paint on her father's expensive suit? Maybe that time when she was holding a presentation on Fashion Design of the French Renaissance and her pants ripped? Or when she developed a crush on her café table neighbor and he turned out to be her visual arts professor and she slipped into third person? All these don't bring forth the familiar click when two similar types of fuck-ups resonate.

Hey, maybe she didn't fuck up so badly. All of them are relatively minor to the big picture, no matter how mortifying, right? This gradually sinks in and she relaxes, preparing to doze off into another nap, until it finally clicked:

A travesty is occurring in her apartment.

She jumped out of the bed and raced to the kitchen, only to find a hot stranger sipping even hotter coffee, curiously inspecting her designs and potted rosemary.

"You'll burn your tongue and soul in hell!" She shrieked in dismay. "I don't even _have_ coffee!"

The hottest woman in existence smiled (Haru felt something that vaguely resembled both an orchestra opening and a heart attack), but she noticed that Miss Beautiful gripped the mug ( _her mug_ ) tighter. That absolutely cannot do, otherworldly attractiveness or not. Sometimes, you have to rescue those who do not want to be rescued. This is one of the times.

In one breath Haru pushed forward the garbage bin with her left foot, positioning it underneath her lunge for the offending, still steaming beverage, and twisted the forearm so that she could slam the mug into the plastic container with a satisfying ****'thump'****. The handle broke, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

Silence ensued, underlined by her heavy breathing due to the physical extortion. But, Haru noted with satisfaction, none of the coffee has spilled outside and so she didn't have to clean.

She looked up from the mug in the bin, buried under fabric scraps and paper, towards the stranger. The stranger of hot she probably drunkenly invited back. It wouldn't be the first time, but this is definitely a milestone in her record. Drunk her did always have good taste.

The honey-brown eyes were already locked onto her, and heat rose to her cheeks involuntarily. "Well," she drew the word out, as if testing it on her tongue. Haru wanted to test if that tongue could still draw that sound in her mouth. Hopefully that already but happened, but...She was drunk. Drunk her doesn't have good memory. "That was simultaneously the most aggravating and sexiest thing I've ever witnessed. And I witnessed a lot. "

"Oh no," Haru said. "You meant sensible and healthy. I don't think this relationship can last if you continue beaning the black. I mean black beans hell. I mean...Name?"

"Kyoko," Kyoko laughed, and Haru wanted to rip her hair and heart out to stuff her mouth so that the chestnut-haired angel didn't hear her sob in amazement. Judging by the lidded look that sent shivers down her spine, that was not the case. Haru would like to _perish this instance_.

"Kyo...ko," Haru said, dragging each syllable out of her dry throat to make it last longer. It didn't taste like anything (why did she expect it to?), but it did make her curl her fingers against the hem of her top. "Meet to nice you. Please no coffee. I...Tea. It's in the cupboard."

"That'd be nice, thank you." Kyoko answered all perfect and princess-like, politely not bearing witness to her vivid fantasies of Haru strangling herself. She is probably a mindreader. Kyoko could tell Haru that she was the one who designed and stitched her seam by seam and programmed her to love her creator Kyoko, and Haru would believe it because it made perfect sense.

The only thing that prevented her ridiculous tangents taking over her still somewhat functioning brain was that, if Kyoko was a mindreader and her creator Kyoko and perfect, was the scent of coffee coming from the liquid sin between them.

"How ironic," Haru finally managed not to stumble, and _of course_ it was by drawing on her drama expertise. "That the perfection I seek is made real by the fatal imperfection."

Kyoko wriggled her eyebrows, and Haru tried very, very carefully not to cry in the face of the cutest shit she has ever witnessed.

She failed, but Kyoko took pity on her and agreed on a date. It will be at the coffee shop run by her childhood friend, and Haru agreed to the location while still recovering from the _humiliation_. She was appalled and astonished. But then Kyoko wriggled her eyebrows again and she opened a new tissue box.

* * *

 **AN: There was a troll saying shit like 'let's make fanfic authors cry' and 'here's how you build a spam bot'. While I am all for Chaos in good fun (I'm Chaotic Good/Neutral), I detest that crap. :C**

 **However, on another note, I'm cross-posting on AO3 under the same username. And I haven't gotten any request on Tumblr, which makes me slightly sad. I'm only planning on doing 25 chapters and at this rate all of them will come from my own brain.**


	5. labeled

**5: labeled**

* * *

Labels define.

So when Haru and Kyoko met, they immediately labeled each other as friends, because that is what you do when connecting with another human you like, and you hope to know that it is mutual. It creates a feeling of the safety between the boundaries of 'too close' and the distant 'just acquaintances'.

Haru watched TV as a child, as many children do. There is this magic, different label as well. To use for the 'beyond special' friend, the best friend. Thanks to TV and books and word of mouth, she had an idea of what that would be like, and experienced the label of the best friend. A shared secret underlined by giggles. Childhood memories shared and trades of stuffed toys. Dramatic tears of denouncements. Quick resolution and underlying grudges, maybe. She forgets, forgot. It has been quite long, and honestly? The concept of a best friend now is alien to her.

But Kyoko was just so _pretty_ , honey-brown eyes, soft hair, and her chin sharp with padded cheekbones making her look like a chipmunk. The urge to feed an actual being was also alien, until now. No sparkles appear when she smiles, no flowers bloom as she claps in joy. Haru didn't expect that to happen, this isn't an anime. But what she _does_ expect is to go to Kyoko to feel happy and happier. For her mere presence to let the negative step back. Time is not long enough to encompass their conversations, and mundane things like walking to school with her are economic. For her emotional health.

So she pulled out the old, almost-forgotten label of a best friend, and Kyoko accepts.

One day, at 2 am hiding the send button under her thumb and herself under a blanket, Haru will ask for an additional label. But that's for another chapter.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, I think I'm out of the writer's block that I had! Don't worry if you think this chapter is awkward. Next chapter is better as I got more into the mood, but that one is getting posted later.**


	6. salt receptors

**6: salt receptors**

* * *

"I never knew you played the piano." Placing the groceries down and untangling herself from her gray scarf, Haru closed the door to the frigid autumn air.

A non-committal hum came from the kitchen. Kyoko's orange hair was restrained with a bright blue bandana, and as a costume designer, Haru couldn't let that horrible clash of colors stand. She swiftly and with care pulled of the otherwise innocent piece of fabric from her head and put the gray scarf on her head.

The chopping of onions done, Kyoko pushed them into the pot. While doing so, she arched her head and started stirring the ladle. Normally Haru would start salivating at the sight of the prima ballerina doing anything automatically graceful, but the casual slide of the woolen scarf as a consequence onto the stone floor was very much unwelcome.

"Oi," she said. "The floor's greasy."

"Well then," Kyoko's eyes never left the bubbling soup. She blew three times onto the wooden ladle and swung it towards Haru. "Maybe we should've cleaned it instead of going through the wholesome meme blogs."

The gulasch has too much salt, but Haru leaned in instead and the peck Kyoko was expecting transitions into tongue. She made sure to lick the inside of her cheeks and was beginning to suck on where she thinks the **salt receptors** are located when Kyoko began humming, and Haru huffed in laughter into their connected mouth.

The soup ladle spilled the remaining liquid as Kyoko jerked in surprise at the excess air, some of it landed onto the greasy floor, some of it onto the almost forgotten scarf. She coughed and tearfully grimaced, thumping her chest. "Oi yourself!"

"Hehe," Haru pouted against her nose, half-kissing and half-bouncing her lips against it. "Don't hum the Mario theme song next time."

"Then don't make me dance to it as a dare."

"Then don't make me so envious of your dancing skills."

"Then don't," she trailed off and curled a finger against Haru's chin. "Ogle me because I preen like the peacock I am inside."

Haru sighed in defeat and rested her head against Kyoko's hand. "You're so goddamn pretty."

"I know."

They breathed in each other. "Did you know," Kyoko whispered, cupping Haru's face, their noses touching. "That some believe our souls enter our bodies in our first breath? It explains Dementors."

"Did you know," Haru's voice was hoarse. "That potatoes and celery absorb salt?"

"...Too salty?"

"Yeah, and I think I know why you stopped piano."

"How so?"

"Cold hands."

"..."

"Don't move, don't move. Let's stay like this a bit longer. I'm getting the _best_ kind of fuzzies."

"But the scarf..." The half-hearted protest was silently answered by the mutual lovesick staring until their feet got cold and the gulasch almost boiled over.

* * *

 **A/N: I think this is my best one yet! You know you did a good job when the chocolate muffin tastes bleak in comparison to this. On another note, I'm so out of ideas. Please send me asks and prompts.**


	7. fine

**AN: rabbitfishcake requested another cooking related prompt! Thank you rabbitfishcake, ekourage, etnoe and guests for your support!**

 **Sorry for the supremely wait post. I kept writing and re-writing and re-writing it because I wasn't satisfied (+ RL stress). I'm still not satisfied but I really want to move on.**

 **As an apology, take this three chapter dump.**

* * *

"You're _whetting_ my appetite."

Cut cut. A giggle. The sound of metal against wood. She could feel Takeshi passing judgement, but did she care?

Kyoko stole a glance at his face. Not particularly. Then she went back to observing her girlfriend furthering her culinary skills. She herself didn't have a lot to do. It made her twitchy. Her pumpkin chicken stew just needed to sit for an hour and then have some cheese dumped into it to make it creamy. She glanced at the knife in her hand, it was already cleaned. For the fifth time.

" _Doughnut_ hurt yourself laughing," she mumbled quietly.

A sweeping glance at her workstation revealed no left-over bowls or ingredients either for her to remove. She stared at Haru again, who was paying attention to Takeshi instructing on the ancient principles of decorative food cutting or whatever. He wielded the kitchen knife smoothly and fast, gradually carving and constructing a vegetable ship. Haru's brown eyes were starry, she clapped her hands together and her lips made an O-shape. At Takeshi. Who proudly pat himself on the shoulder. Kyoko looked back at her stove, where a large pressure cooker silently sat.

She is **fine**.

"I'm feeling _cut_ out."

Totally fine. It's alright to feel jealous at a very domestic scene straight of a shoujo manga despite trusting Takeshi and Haru with her life.

Let her cope with her _buns_. Get it? Because buns are bread, she was cooking and also has fine buns as Haru can attest to, bread was also actually on the cooling rack for her stew, and she was making puns, so it's a wordplay of the fourth degree-

A tall Chrome slammed the door in her face.

Wait.

That was Mukuro.

" _Mist_ akes were made," she found herself whispering in horror.


	8. surprise

Haru respects boundaries, so she respects Kyoko's not-appreciation, and dare she say _dislike_ , dislike(!) for hugs. That's fine. Haru is open minded. Accepting. She can adapt. It's totally fine.

Kyoko doesn't get a hello-how-are-you-pounced at, she gets a high-five, no matter how lackluster or annoyed or tired either of them are. When celebrating, a fist bump. A nudge to startle her out of deep thought. A pat on the shoulder as she massages her forehead in annoyance. And when a mission went badly, Haru brings five and one cushions and tea, despite Kyoko's obviously _heretic_ protests for the devil's burnt bean juice called coffee. They hold hands as she pokes Kyoko's shin with wiggling toes, and she takes delight in seeing how her babbling washes over Kyoko. Hugs can be substituted, and Haru is more than happy to make the effort.

When Kyoko cut her hair even shorter, leaving only just enough for fingers to run and comb through, she was the first to receive the honor of doing so. And if she was honest to herself, Kyoko could have herself bald and pull it off like a runaway model. Totally honest. Okay, she lied. But the new haircut made her more aware of other facial features Kyoko possessed. And Haru could and is appreciating that. A lot. Too much, in fact, but that's okay.

That's why it makes something in her go quietly berserk when people wonder how Kyoko 'deserves' her.

Who was the one to purse her lips and complain endlessly yet went through the archive catalogs for five hours with her? Kyoko. Who was the one that sicced Lambo and I-Pin on Ryohei to buy Kyoko time to escape when he busted their weekly meeting? Her. When tension rise and the temptation to go guns blazing is the easiest yet worst choice, who drags their brains back from their asses? Them.

It's a team effort, they're equals. Super secret spy spouses against erroneous enemies and assisting amiable alliterative allies.

Despite her declining faith in the average intelligence levels, it keeps **surprising** her when people fail to see it.


	9. numbed

Three months.

That much time until the premiere performance of the Kokumori Dance Group, an incredibly minor subgroup of the enormous Vongola Company, only barely qualifying after merging the two rival groups Namimori Middle and Kokuyo Gang together. Both Kyoko and Haru are incredibly busy, practicing choreography and designing costumes, knowing that it may be discarded at a moment's notice due to the perfectionist choreographer Hibari or his frienemy Mukuro the director.

Let's not even mention the true demon of the dance troupe, Nana, who is loved and feared in equal measure. She can do anything and knows everything. Hibari and Mukuro have less presence than a speck of dust in comparison, though Haru and others are inclined to see otherwise. Kyoko is a Nana fan, so what?

They haven't seen each other for days, their schedules and workload type are fundamentally different. Sometimes, between stretches and rehearsals and bathroom breaks, Kyoko wonders what Haru might be doing right now, at this very moment. Is she being a terrible girlfriend, not calling or even texting her once this week? Should she stay up late to gaze wistfully at the night sky, wondering if Haru was staring up too, instead of collapsing onto the mattress? Where is the line between being selfish and being a good partner, only a few weeks into a relationship? Does it matter?

She comforts Hana half-heartedly as the latter complains about her law degree rotting away while she calculates logistics and handles paperwork. She spends half an hour correcting her posture during a jump that won't matter in the big picture when she'd rather do footwork. She eats, breathes, sleeps, feeling nothing in particular. She dances and her body remembers exhilaration rather than truly be exhilarated.

It's like Haru vanished from her life, despite her only being a building away. With her spending nights in the workshop instead of the dorm, actually living in the workshop, it's like she has never been here.

It should make her sad, but it's like her brain has forgotten how to, **numbed** from stress and anticipation and routine.

Everything is a stainless steel grey.


	10. alternative

**AN: Or how chapter 7 could have turned out if Chrome actually entered instead.**

* * *

"I'm feeling _cut_ out."

Totally fine. It's alright to feel jealous at a very domestic scene straight of a shoujo manga despite trusting Takeshi and Haru with her life.

Let her cope with her buns. Get it? Because buns are bread, she was cooking and also has fine buns and fantastic legs, as Haru can attest to. Additionally bread buns were also on the cooling rack to accompany her stew. So it's a wordplay of the fourth degree-

Chrome thundered into the kitchen, practically spitting fire and gripping her trident so hard that her knuckles were a stark white against her already pale skin. Seeing her, violet eyes lit up. She clasped her hands, tilted her head, and glittering flowers bloomed in the background.

"Kyoko, it's so good to see you" Her strangely behaving friend teleported next to her, grabbing her shoulders firmly. That her hands stayed on her shoulders despite her spike of annoyance was telling of how off-kilter she was.

"I absolutely have to show you something extr… I mean, I'm so _delighted_ to spend some _quality_ time with you.."

The kitchen faded away and was replaced with a café. Or what used to be a café. The reason? Her brother was fighting an increasingly frantic Daisy.

Kyoko _refused_ to even consider the damage bills. Or remember all the wasted food, which is a shame, because this café had a delightful twist to their savory churros- Dammit!

" _Mist_ akes were made."

Chrome shot her a very flat look, ignoring a perfectly good pun. "Your brother interrupted my platonic date. Fix it."

Kyoko gave herself a short moment to mourn for the churros, then all the subsequent paperwork Tsuna is going to dump on her with those quadra-damned Bambi eyes of his. Lastly, she spent a quick second to pray for her dearest but absolutely thick-headed sibling-

"Kyoko." Chrome was enshrouded in pure darkness, with tendrils of the abyssal horrors she is capable of summoning manifesting into this layer of reality.

"I'm going! I'm going," she held up her hands in a motion of surrender. "Sheesh, you're acting like you don't have the **alternative** of siccing Mukuro on him."

The tendrils of her abyssal horrors halted for a moment before resuming their ominous floatation. But Kyoko was pretty sure that they were more stiff. Yep, one of them twitched.

"Mukuro doesn't know about this," she finally admitted, before the abyssal energies surged. "I'm twenty-fucking-four and asexual, what does he even have to worry about?!"

Well, that explained why she's limiting herself to teleportation and umbriac channeling.

"That you're asexual but not aromantic, and that he won't admit that he's secretly an insecure gremlin." She flatly replied, before she turned to the fighting.

A blue-golden flame appeared in her palm, the mere presence causing Ryohei to become anxious and turn around, willingly taking a hit.

"KYOKO!" He roared. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"Apologize to Chrome, Daisy is here for their platonic date," she placed her hands on her waist. "You interrupted my cooking day too."

That made him feel guilt, and he lowered his head like a puppy. "I'm sorry, Kyoko… But-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as his Flames dipping in intensity was enough for Chrome to take action. She flung him through a portal and then sighed. "Thank you so much, Kyoko. I'll do the paperwork."

"It's fine-"

Chrome gave her a wry smile. "I can hear you mentally cheering."

She returned it with a grin. "I'll keep my mouth shut for you."

"Good," Chrome nodded, before smirking. "Haru was mentally biting her handkerchief as I whisked you away. Her attempts at reconciling 'quality time' with my interrupted 'extreme' were very amusing."

Kyoko pretended that she didn't light up from the adorable squishiness that is Haru. Of course, she must later comfort her properly in bed-

"Ugh," Chrome cringed away from her and pointed at the portal. "Please escort yourself and your disgusting thoughts from my vicinity."

As the ruined café faded away, she barely managed to capture her friend's muttering:

"Who's really the insecure one?"


End file.
